The Young Man and the Sea
by district4slytherin
Summary: A series of glimpses into the life of Finnick Odair, including his first Hunger Games, his friendships with Mags and Johanna, his relationship with Annie, and his exploitation and ultimate death by the hands of the Capitol.
1. Chapter 1: The Odairs

The sun was steadily dropping toward the horizon, the glassy surface of the sea reflecting the orange, yellow, pink, and red of the sky. The storms that had plagued District 4 for the past three days were gone, and had left a sort of mystical serenity in their wake. Normally, on such an idyllic summer evening, one could look out to the beach and see toddlers splashing around in the waves, children sifting through tide pools, teenagers surfing, and adults roasting shellfish around a fire. Tonight, though, only the black silhouettes of large fishing boats could be seen on the sea's cerulean surface. Finnick Odair, floating in his homemade wooden rowboat in his family's small private cove, was hidden from view.

He let himself drift around aimlessly, only using his oar when he got too close to the rocky edges. He knew he wasn't likely to be picked with his name only in the Reaping ball three times among several thousand, but his stomach twisted knowing that two of the kids he'd been training with for as long as he could remember would end up in the arena. It had been five years since Umbriel Jones took home the crown for District 4 and they were getting restless. The fervor had rubbed off on Finnick, and though he didn't plan to volunteer until he was at least sixteen, the fourteen-year-old trained with such ferocity that he was one of the best in the class. He believed that when he eventually made it to the Games, District 4 would have a winner once again.

The last few blood red rays of daylight glinted off the boy's sun-bleached reddish brown hair and his deeply tan skin. His training had left him very well-muscled, especially for his age, and he already stood six-foot-one. He knew he was attractive; women of all ages flirted with him-a few were still undeterred when they found out he was fourteen, which creeped him out endlessly. But his looks were something given to him by chance, and he felt awkward receiving praise for them. Someday, after he returned alive to District 4 from the Hunger Games, all of Panem would be able to look past his handsome face and see a person of real worth.

"Finnick! Dinner's ready." His mother's voice rang out over the wave-worn rocks, and he paddled inward, tying his boat to an old willow tree. "I made bouillabaisse and your father bought some fresh bread from the pier."

"Wonderful," said Finnick, scooping his mother into a hug, dwarfing even her five-foot-nine frame.

They broke apart, and she examined her son with her sea-green eyes, a small smile on her lips. "You're awfully affectionate all of a sudden, Finn. What's the deal?"

Finnick didn't return her smile. "Same reason you made my favorite meal for dinner."

She smoothed back his overgrown hair, smiling sadly at her youngest child who she could see really wasn't a child anymore. "You know that if your name gets drawn, Ahti or Noah or one of those other guys will volunteer faster than you can spear a fish."

The thought didn't cheer Finnick up. Ahti and the other eighteen-year-old guys were all strong and deadly, but so were the Careers from 1 and 2. And even if they did manage to win, it would mean the girl tribute from 4 would have to die. Though Finnick was shy around the older girls who trained and didn't know any of them very well, he hated the thought of them dying.

Mrs. Odair sensed what her son was feeling, and sympathized with him. She herself had gone through Career training up until the age of eleven, when it became obvious she lacked the necessary coordination of a victor. Her husband had been dropped at sixteen after getting in a surfing accident that gave him a perpetually stiff neck. Finnick's nineteen-year-old sister Mar had completed training without once volunteering. But all of them had watched their friends die.

She placed her hand on Finnick's shoulder and led him into the house. His father was setting the table with their finest gold ware, and his sister was spreading salmon cream cheese on slices of green-tinted bread. Mar brushed her long blonde hair out of her eyes and smiled at him, her green eyes shining with unshed tears. Finnick knew she was thinking about Spiro, one of the eighteen-year-old trainees. He and Mar had just started dating, and it would be a shame if he was taken from her so soon. Not, Finnick thought bitterly, that he would volunteer, but then again neither had Mar.

Mar brought the plate of bread to the table as Mrs. Odair carried the steaming crock-pot of bouillabaisse. They sat down, and with a few well-placed jokes from their mother and a couple of vivid stories from their father, the Odair children brushed off their pressing concerns and slept that night without trouble.


	2. Chapter 2: Don't Fear the Reaper

The crowd was just dying down after Marina Myers, a seventeen-year-old trainee, volunteered as tribute. Finnick had never talked to her, but he knew she was powerful and probably had as good a chance as any of the other girls to win. Earlier he had overheard Ahti telling the other eighteen-year-olds that he planned to volunteer, and Finnick hoped that the final battle wouldn't be between Ahti and Marina. He watched the black-haired girl shake hands with the elderly trainer, Mags McGowan, grinning in a slightly flustered way. The Capitol escort, Arcadia Phillips, made a dramatic show of fishing around the Reaping ball with her gold-painted talons. Finally, she pulled out a slip of paper with a flourish. A thrill shot through Finnick's chest.

"Finnick Odair!" Her voice rang out over the crowd. Finnick felt a sharp pain in his chest like he'd been stabbed. His ears began ringing and his vision blurred, and he felt hands pushing him towards the walkway. Regaining his composure, he walked steadily to the stage. He could hear voices whispering, but they were incomprehensible to him. As he stood on the stage, Arcadia's talons stabbing his shoulder as she announced the District 4 Tributes of the 65th Annual Hunger Games, he suddenly remembered the Ahti was supposed to volunteer. He sought the boy out and made eye contact with him. Ahti looked resigned but happy. He gave Finnick one quick nod, and suddenly he realized. Everyone in the crowd was looking at him with admiration, pride, and trust. Ahti hadn't volunteered out of respect.

They really thought he could do this.

_I could do this,_ he thought.

"Shake hands, tributes!" Arcadia trilled. He faced Marina, who was almost his height, and stared into her icy blue eyes. They shook hands.

_I won't kill you_, Finnick decided. _But I hope somebody does._

Mags purveyed the two teenagers across from her. The girl was pretty, no doubt she took good care of herself, and was thick with muscle. The only things that betrayed her calm disposition were her stubby fingernails, drumming rapidly on the table. But the boy was something special, Mags could tell. He was very young-most Careers were at least sixteen. He had the physique of a man but a very innocent, beautiful face. It made Mags's heart wrench a little seeing so much fear flickering behind those green eyes. But after fifty-three years of mentoring, she was used to that pain.

"Why isn't Umbriel mentoring us?" asked Marina abruptly, her fingers pausing.

Mags grinned toothlessly at her. "Oh, you want Umbriel, do you? Think that maybe you'll be the first tribute she's ever led to victory? Or maybe it makes you uncomfortable to be around someone so old and… frail." She affixed the girl with a bald stare. "Well if you want Umbriel, I'm afraid there's not much I can do about that. But if you want to win, I can help you do just that." She turned to the boy. "Do you have a problem with me as your mentor?"

"No," said Finnick, his brow slightly furrowed. "I trust you."

"I think we'll all be better off if we can trust each other. Do you two agree?"

"Yes," Finnick and Marina replied in unison. Marina's tone was slightly defensive, but Finnick's was decisive, and he cast his eyes downward at the table.

Mags studied the boy's gilded hair and chiseled profile. _Poor thing,_ she thought sadly. _If he wins this thing, the Capitol's going to eat him alive._


	3. Chapter 3: Victorious

Mags watched warily from the screening room in the Training Center as Marina took an axe to the back, thrown with precision by the District 7 male. Finnick followed him and speared him in the chest. Mags and the 7 mentor, Blight, shifted awkwardly in their seats, avoiding eye contact. A camera zoomed in on the other four careers whispering together. "I think it's time to take Pretty Boy out of the game," the District 1 girl muttered, and the others nodded assent. Mags stiffened. Immediately, the electronic device she used to manage her mentoring affairs started filling up with messages. They all had the same subject line: _Sponsoring Finnick Odair._ Before she could respond to any of them, a Gamemaker walked up and put his hand on Mags's shoulder, telling her the amount in Finnick's sponsoring pool. Mags was momentarily speechless. In over half a century, she'd never seen such a large pool for one tribute. She informed the Gamemaker to send him a trident, and the man grinned, already prepared.

Finnick wielded his spear overhead, and plunged it into the heart of the District 1 girl who was ensnared in his net. He heard the cannon, and what felt like half an hour later, though it had to be only seconds, he heard "Congratulations Finnick Odair, winner of the 65th Annual Hunger Games!" He thrust the trident aside and collapsed on the ground.

He was free-he had done it.

As he sat in the hovercraft, making his way back to the Capitol, he suddenly wasn't sure what he'd done.

After his interview with Caesar Flickerman, in which he was told he already had several marriage proposals and was granted with gifts from admirers, he sat disheveled in the train back to 4, drinking a mint-flavored soda without tasting it. His dark blue suit was rumpled, his now-trimmed hair was limp, and the glowing makeup his stylist had applied to his face was starting to crease. As soon as he got back to 4, he would curl up in his bed, ask his sister to sing to him, and then sleep until the Hunger Games were nothing but a distant dream.

There was a knock on his door and he jumped, sloshing soda on his pants. _Stupid,_ he scolded himself. _You're out of the arena and you're never going back. _

He opened the door to find Mags looking up at him with her disarmingly honest eyes.

"May I come in?"

"Absolutely," he said, cursing himself for not being better put-together in front of the person he now respected the most, the one who led him to survival. But Mags didn't seem to notice; her mind, still sharp despite her age, on more important things.

"I know all you want to do is return to 4 and forget this whole affair ever happened." Finnick looked at her, startled. "Though I volunteered, I was never mentally prepared. I do understand how you feel right now." She took a deep breath. "But it's not over, Finnick. It will never be over."

"I know," said Finnick quietly. "I promise to follow your example and be the best mentor to those kids as I can be."

Mags sighed. "It's not just the mentoring, although of course you'll have to do that too. But Finnick, you're in a unique position that neither Umbriel or I can successfully prepare you for. I was pretty, but never attractive. Rather like Marina, bless her heart. And Umbriel doesn't have anything beautiful about her. But you're arguably the most beautiful and popular tribute to ever play the Games."

Finnick frowned. "That doesn't have anything to do with anything."

"That's where you're dead wrong," said Mags firmly. "There are many people in the Capitol who will want a piece of your fame and beauty, and they'll get it the only way those hedonists know how. I knew it from the moment I saw you, but after you won I heard them talking about it myself. President Snow makes a lot of money off these exchanges. It's the dirty secret behind the 'glory' of winning the Games."

Finnick felt a sick swoop in his stomach. He'd barely ever kissed anyone, and now he was expected to share his body with anyone who could afford the night? "I can't," he whispered. "I won't!"

"This is why I'm telling you now, rather than letting Snow break the news. If you refuse his orders, he'll kill your whole family."

"My whole-?" He repeated numbly.

"Yes. He'd keep you alive, of course, but they'd be dead. Of course, it's up to you. I'm certainly not going to tell you what you should do."

Finnick was ashamed to find his eyes burning and blurring. Mags reached out her gnarled hand to grab his.

Finally, when he regained the ability to speak, he asked her thickly, "When do I start?"

"Not yet, my dear. You're still very young. But soon." She stroked the child's disheveled hair, and he closed his eyes, completely dejected. "It really isn't such a glorious life, being a victor."


End file.
